Gendered Food and Traditions among Argentine Jewry

Gendered Foods and Traditions among Argentine Jewry Jacqueline Laznow Jewish Folklore and Ethnology, Volume 1, Fall 2022, pp. 129-157 (Article) Published by Wayne State University Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/jfe.2022.0002 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/884261 [ Access provided at 14 Mar 2023 10:36 GMT from Hebrew University of Jerusalem ] Gendered Foods and Traditions among Argentine Jewry JACQUELINE LAZNOW Examining layers of meaning found in personal stories, folktales, memoirs, recipes, and cookbooks collected from interviewees in Argentina and in Israel, this essay interprets the women’s role in Jewish-Argentine identity formation and preservation in connection to processes of forming private and collective memory. Traditional Jewish foodways generally and gefilte-fish specifically in contrast to traditional Argentine foodways such as meat grilling are analyzed as a symbolic praxis that strengthens Argentine identity. W hen we eat, we not only nourish, but we also acquire flavors and, metaphorically, symbols and their meaning (Beardsworth and Keil 2002). Like language, foodways constitute a semiotic communication system (Douglass 1972), and thus foodways and language play a central role in shaping and preserving identity. The historiog- raphy of the Jewish community of Argentina shows little attention to the connection between foodways, memory, and identity. Overlooking foodways as a research topic is related to an androcentric point of view that up until the late twentieth century marginalized domestic culture traditionally associated with women. A change of focus is evident in the twenty-first century as a result of a growing academic interest in domestic culture and Jewish women’s history (Brodsky 2016; Laznow 2019; McGee Deutsch 2010; Visacovsky 2015;). Ethnologist Simon Bronner states that Jewish home practices as a basis of cultural, symbolic praxis in Jewish Folklore and Ethnology, 1, Fall 2022, pp. 129–57. Copyright © 2023 Wayne State University Press, Detroit, Michigan 48201-1309. Laznow G e n d e r e d F o o d s a n d Tr a d i t i o n s 130 | L A Z N O W modern North American homes should be studied since this is where tradition is performed and transmitted to a great length (Bronner 2021). I argue that the same is true for Jewish-Argentine homes and in this essay will analyze home practices to discern their symbolic meaning and status as cultural praxis. The Jewish community of Argentina, the largest in Latin America, originates from the great waves of immigration to the New World that began toward the end of the nineteenth century and continued until World War II, resuming in the 1940s with the arrival of German Jews (Szurmuk 2010). As early as 1859, a few Moroccan, Western European, and Ottoman Jews settled in Argentina (Brodsky 2016, 17). In the third decade of the twenty-first century, around 80 percent are Ashkenazi Jews of Eastern European descent, while 20 percent originate from Germany, Spanish Morocco, the Balkans, and Syria (Avni 1991; DellaPergola 2019). Jewish immigrants established themselves mostly in Buenos Aires, the capital city, but many also settled in rural colonies sponsored by the Jewish Colonization Association (JCA), established by the Baron Maurice de Hirsch, who at the end of the nineteenth century devoted a large part of his fortune and efforts to saving East European Jews from poverty, pogroms, and persecutions, while offering them a secular and vocational education through Jewish agricultural colonization (Avni 1991; Szurmuk 2010). Over time, most settlers and their offspring moved to the big cities, mainly to Buenos Aires, for study and work. In this essay I seek to give expression to the daily lives of Jewish women of Eastern European descent, and their role in Jewish-Argentine identity formation and preservation, through home traditions. Furthermore, women’s roles in this community will also be analyzed following immigration to Israel and the resulting transformation of cultural traditions. I will do so through an examination of perceptions and layers of meaning found in personal stories, memoirs, social media, recipes, and cookbooks collected in Argentina and Israel. I conducted fieldwork for this ethno-historical study from 2013 to 2016 and completed interviews with forty women who immigrated to Israel from the mid1950s to the 1980s, and with eleven women currently living in Buenos-Aires.1 All the women grew up in Buenos Aires and perceive themselves as secular Jews. Their ages ranged from 46 to 85 years old. I asked them to describe their daily G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 131 lives and the daily lives of their immediate female relatives in the context of foodways, language, Jewish culture, and Argentine culture. Those living in Israel were further asked about the changes that occurred regarding their perception of what they consider traditional. Their stories are rich and detailed, allowing for a better understanding of the link between home traditions, the formation of identity, and their correlation with personal and collective memory. Analyzing home practices in context with folkloristic research tools (Fischman 2011; Salamon and Goldberg 2012) illuminates cultural processes and values that would otherwise remain hidden (Sutton 2001; Lévi-Strauss 2004). From Immigrant to Jewish-Argentine Woman Until gaining independence from Spain in 1810, Argentina was a colony governed by strict patriarchal laws and Spanish traditions based on the Catholic Church (Shumway 2005). A reform in 1870 established compulsory education for all and encouraged women to work as teachers. However, until legislative changes that began in 1926 occurred, single as well as married women were not allowed to own property, and children were considered the sole property of their fathers. In addition, laws prohibited women from engaging in professions that were not considered feminine. The legal and social system assumed that a woman’s place was at home and going out to work was done only out of necessity, generally for a small wage, and only with the consent of the father or husband (Carlson 1988). Following traditional gender-role expectations, immigrant young Jewish girls learned home crafts. These skills, which did not require a good knowledge of Spanish, were often used as a means to make a living, continuing the practice of Jewish women in Eastern Europe (Glenn 1990). Thus, Jewish women were forced to contend with being othered or ostracized both as women and as Jews. Until the end of the 1930s, the East European origin of most of Argentina’s Jewish women placed them at the center of a moral discourse. During this period, a network of Jews originating in Poland brought East European Jewish women to brothels in Argentina. In response, newspapers and public officials sounded alarms of the spread of “white slavery” and its consequences. The Jewish 132 | L A Z N O W community struggled openly and excommunicated the pimps who were eventually tried and deported from Argentina (Yarfitz 2019). As a result of this historical context, women were placed at the forefront of the effort to preserve the good image of the Jewish community by behaving appropriately, according to the accepted cultural norms of the dominant society. Thus, Jewish women developed a dual consciousness characterized by simultaneous awareness of their own lives as women and of the fate of their community. Foodways as a System of Communication Women, as homemakers and traditional caregivers, played a key role in adapting eating habits to their new home in Argentina (DeVault 1991). While doing so, they developed tactics for conveying cultural messages through foodways and verbal expressions.2 Up until the invention and popularization of home electrical appliances by the mid-twentieth century, the daily demands on women included the daily preparation of food. The lack of refrigerators to maintain food’s freshness set the need to buy animal products daily at the neighborhood markets and prepare them for consumption the same day (Pérez 2012). The task was even more time consuming for those who kept strict kashrut rules as they often had to go to great lengths to buy meat and dairy products. Hannah recalled her mother, who owned a small lingerie store in Buenos Aires: “I remember my mother cooking. My poor mother cooked until her last year when she was very ill. She would invite all her children on Fridays for the wonderful food she made; she ran a store, so I do not know when [she had time]. She only bought kosher meat. I do not know how my mother did it.” Despite her busy schedule, through food the mother conveyed a personal as well as a collective message on the importance of a kosher family Shabbat meal. The number of meals served during the day, the timing, content, and even quantities and portion sizes, in addition to the persons preparing them, comprise the structure of the domestic sphere. The following description illustrates cultural codes associated with eating habits that helped women establish their position in the family as keepers of home traditions: G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 133 My bobe [grandmother] was an excellent cook. Because she went through periods of famine, she would prepare food in huge quantities like most Jewish women of her generation. She would get up at five o’clock on Sundays. She prepared and served six to seven poultry so that nobody would miss out. But first, we had the picadita [a snack served before a meal]. After that, a full three-course meal was served. The first course was tomatoes stuffed with potatoes, sardines, onions, salt, and homemade mayonnaise. She served it with some lettuce. After that she served traditional Jewish dishes. Arenque [salted fish] with onions and stuffed eggs. . . . Afterwards we usually had soup: noodle soup, soup with lentils, vegetable soup, etc. And then the food! The main course. It could have been pasta, cannelloni, crepes, veggies . . . everything homemade; she also made the pasta herself . . . dessert was served following the main course, after which we continued to sit at the table for the sobremesa [sitting at the table following the end of a meal] and chat. At four o’clock the table was set for the merienda [afternoon meal], there was a large variety of cakes to eat. Serving in abundance, and indeed more than one could eat, creates an image of kitchen Judaism as enriching physically as well as intellectually, praising female wisdom. More so if there is scarcity in the personal or collective background. Men would enter the kitchen and engage in food preparation only with the women’s permission. Teresa vividly recalled and imitated her grandfather working in the kitchen: “When she made chopped liver, Mom would let my grandfather grate it with a hand grater, because he liked to eat it so much, he would be quiet and grate . . . grate . . . grate. . . .” Foodways and especially holiday meals contain a structure that reminds participants of personal and collective events, merging past and present into what anthropologist David E. Sutton calls “blended temporalities of experience” (Sutton 2001, 159). Alicia’s words illustrate this claim: “I recognized the holidays by the food, if it was Passover, if it was Rosh-Hashanah. . . . My grandmother would make sweet and sour food and all the Jewish things: gefilte-fish and bagels and knedelach and knishes and all that stuff.” During the daily home routines, oral expressions in 134 | L A Z N O W Yiddish are often linked to foodways. Yiddish names for foods learned from their elders are still used by many when addressing their own children. For example, Ruth recounted: “tzibele, tzibele is onion, so ‘do you want a salad with tzibele or without tzibele?’ for my children, it is tzibele. A lot of things remained in Yiddish.” By using Yiddish words, women place themselves and their children or grandchildren in the old immigrant’s Yiddish world of their childhood. Moreover, in the following quote, Miriam combined food and language using the word taste to describe words in Yiddish that leave a special taste in the mouth of those who pronounce them: “There are words that cannot be translated to Spanish, for example tiene angel [Spanish for complimenting someone as being charming] instead of the Yiddish word chen [Yiddish for complimenting someone as being charming]. There are words that have a special taste in Yiddish, and it is not the same in Spanish. I try to convey all these words to my grandchildren.” Fernando Fischman found that despite the widespread use of Spanish for everyday communication and the use of Hebrew as a symbolic language, Argentine Jews still use Yiddish as an intimate language (Fishman 2011). This finding equates to the symbolic meaning attributed to traditional foodways by my interviewees. Just as with the daily use of verbal expressions in Yiddish, the understanding of the metaphorical meaning attributed to food closes the generation gap and strengthens Jewish identity. The disappearance of the immigrant generation symbolizes for many JewishArgentines the transition from halakhic Judaism into Judaism as tradition or, as Fischman defined it, a turning point from Judaism as an authoritative religion into Judaism as culture (Fischman 2006). The culture fostered a new perception of Jewish domestic tradition that heightened women’s role in the community. By the 1960s many modernized young Jewish-Argentine women joined the workforce, mainly as teachers. As modern women juggled the worlds of work and home, they were eager to embrace facile local and international foodways. The change of times combined with a popular Zionist ideology that, with a shift to Hebrew from Yiddish, carried cultural implications that encouraged viewing immigrant food as outdated. One of the implications was the transformation of Eastern European food from a diet staple to part of nostalgic “cultural heritage” (Brulotte and Di Giovine 2014). By creating new culinary habits while preserving traditional G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 135 foodways as “sites of memory” (Sutton, 2008), homemakers played a role in creating a modern Jewish-Argentine identity, strengthening the sense of belonging to the country (de Certeau [1988] 2011). Foodways and the Jewish-Argentine Bobe3 During fieldwork, questions arose regarding the processes of continuity and change in the community’s home traditions, or what folklorist Barbara KirshenblattGimblett calls “kitchen Judaism” (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1990). She referred to cooking and gathering in home kitchens as constituting a system of cultural practices designed to preserve Jewish values and norms of behavior through repetition in an attempt to create continuity with a mythical past. Studies of Jewish-Argentine home life show that domestic practices in this community are anchored in a popular discourse revolving around the Yiddishe mame, the protective, often overbearing, Ashkenazic Jewish mother (Antler 2007; Lambert 2017; Toker and Finzi 1994). The stereotypical Jewish mother in Argentina is characterized by a cluster of attributes located on a continuum ranging from old-fashioned and irrelevant to a mythical character representing childhood innocence and warmth and saturated with nostalgic tastes and aromas. The popular Jewish discourse gradually shifted to prominently focus on the adult version of the Jewish mother—the bobe, who evokes memories of the immigrant generation. The new discourse brings forward concepts, flavors, and aromas gone by, reminding people of what is Jewish while securing community boundaries. For instance, the essay “Tastes and Words,” included in the anthology Buenos Aires Yiddish (Jewish Buenos Aires, 2006), celebrates the continuation of tradition, Jewish foodways, and Yiddish folklore perpetuated by mothers and grandmothers: I dedicate my words to the Yiddishe mamehs who with a lot or with a little [money] filled our lives with happiness, gave flavor to our palate and left in our memory a unique aroma of homemade and hearty food. . . . The food was suitable for each occasion, and the type of seasoning clearly reflected where they came from: salt and pepper for Russians, Ukrainian, and Galician, some 136 | L A Z N O W sugar for Romanians, and lots of sugar, even in savory foods, for the Polish table. . . . In the present—grandmothers from the previous generation—who call themselves bobe or abu [short for abuela]—continue to pack pekalech [small packages in Yiddish] of gefilte-fish, knishes, or lekach in order to continue to evoke a Jewish sensation on the table of the younger generations. (Becker 2006, 209) In today’s Jewish Argentina, the bobe is a key symbol through which one can penetrate the less conscious levels of the collective memory and seek to understand the meaning that the group grants to its daily reality (Salamon 1993). Social media, blogs, and videos depict the Jewish grandmother as a guardian of tradition and her foodways as a sacred ritual. Traditional Jewish dishes are perceived as mythical, and their preparation is believed to involve a unique and ancient knowledge acquired from women who lived in the Old World. Videos on YouTube document older women preparing traditional dishes, sometimes in groups and while singing the recipe. Jewish restaurants in Buenos Aires, advertise traditional dishes as food approved by the bobes [plural for bobe], presenting the restaurant as being ‘La bobe de todos’ [everyone’s grandmother]. By presenting the Jewish grandmother as a symbol, the advertisers attempt to evoke memories of forgotten tastes, thus granting their own dishes the value of an authentic dish embedded in collective memory. The bobe seems to hold the authority to socialize the non-Jews who joined the family, Sarah stated: “On Passover we gather and learn about all the ceremonial foods laid on the table as I explain what everything means. Then we eat. My non-Jewish son in law is always interested and wants to learn about the customs and participate in the celebrations.” In addition to home gatherings, Passover and Rosh Hashanah holidays are also celebrated as a public performance. “Urban Rosh-Hashanah” and “Urban Passover” events encourage large crowds to participate in a joint performance and experience the common cultural text set in the collective memory of the Jewish community (Fischman 2013). During these events, shows, workshops, and lectures occur while traditional dishes such as latkes, kneidelach, and gefilte-fish are G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 137 sold in colorful stands. The public is invited to sample the foods. Some audience members remember the taste of their bobe’s dishes, and some are exposed for the first time to the tastes that immigrant women brought to Argentina. As I will show, the bobe’s legacy is a means to unite the community and shape its identity in an often troubled political and economic context. Recipes as Tactical Tools of Communication Recipes tell a story and convey a message (Cotter 1997). In the past, recipes were passed on orally with variations in quantities and condiments. Over time, recipes were written down and collected, contributing to the passing of culinary traditions from mother to daughter and daughter in-law in an attempt to maintain cultural boundaries as well as gender roles. In contemporary Argentina one can find versions of the same dish recorded by different cooks. Listening to a recipe description within a personal story reveals messages and hidden goals meant for those who would transmit them. During the interviews, I became acquainted with recipes passed from mother to daughter or mother-in-law to bride. Cecilia described the koilitch (or kolatch, challah bread) recipe that she learned to bake from her mother who immigrated to Argentina from Poland. Today she prepares the traditional bread for Rosh Hashana, when she is invited to her son’s home: Traditionally, when I go to my son’s home for Rosh-Hashanah, I make the koilitch. This is my mom’s recipe . . . two kilos of flour . . . one hundred grams of yeast, four eggs, two tablespoons of salt, two tablespoons . . . salt and two of sugar to balance . . . something else is missing . . . four or six tablespoons of oil . . . it is not salty but also not sweet, it is not sweet because when you add salt and sugar . . . raisins and water . . . four cups I think for two kilos of flour . . . By keeping an old culinary tradition, Cecilia mediates between her late mother, who emigrated from Poland to Argentina, and her son’s family, blending past, present, and future. In her personal story, Silvia described a recipe for potato knishes that she received from her mother-in-law, and she happily prepared 138 | L A Z N O W for the family. Silvia emphasized that her mother-in-law did not like to cook, but she transmitted anyway what she learned from her own mother, hoping it would reach the grandchildren: “I pass on to you the famous recipe of bobe Rosa’s potato knishes. To make knishes, you need dough discs for empanadas [in Argentina, you buy this at the grocery store], you need mashed potatoes. You fill the dough discs with a spoon of mashed potatoes and close it upwards, then, with your finger you press ping [sound] in the center and a dent is formed. You bake it in the oven and it’s ready.” The list of ingredients suggests that the recipe was adapted to Argentinean eating habits [dough discs for empanadas], while the demonstration of how the dent is designed illustrates the practice that the woman learned from her mother-in-law with whom she held a special intergenerational connection. Changes in ingredients or cooking methods do not seem to alter the symbolism and personal meaning attributed to a traditional dish and its preparer. Louisa recalled: “It was wonderful to see my mother preparing a strudel. The strudel contains apples, raisins, nuts, sometimes quince jam, which makes it Argentine— originally it was raisins, nuts, and some sugar. My daughter always says to me: ‘I remember my bobe’s hands lifting the dough to make the strudel.’” Hannah described the way she adapted her mother’s recipes to modern technology: “There was no holiday without gefilte-fish, without kneidelach in the soup, without roasted meat in the style that my mother brought back from Europe. I still cook it the same way, you understand? It is a bit with tomato sauce but . . . in a pressure cooker.” Nostalgic and meaningful recipes are also found in Argentine Jewish literature. In the novel Como Papas para Varenikes, Silvia Plager combines romance with recipes from the traditional Jewish cuisine (Plager 1994), while in Taking Root, Graciela Chichotky writes about a favorite holiday dish that was passed on to her in its original kosher version: “My grandmother passed her culinary wisdom on to us. . . . She was never observant, nevertheless, when she gave out the recipe for her incredible blintzes, she would explain: the cheese ones are fried in butter; the meat ones in oil” Chichotky 2013, 173). The name of the dish along with the vivid memory of the woman preparing it seem to link private and collective memory no less than its taste and aroma. As cultural historian Jenna G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 139 Weissman Joselit argued: “What matters is not the authenticity of the recipe but its symbolic power and visual value as a touchstone for the authenticity of Jewish culture” (Joselit 1994, 217). From Recipe to Jewish-Argentine Cookbook Recipes published in cookbooks allow us to trace changes and fashions related to Jewish home traditions over time and space. The cookbook genre that developed in Europe and North America by the late nineteenth century, and included a few Jewish ones (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1986–87), gained popularity in Argentina only from the second half of the twentieth century, when a national discourse praised the ideal woman: fulltime wife, mother, and home economist with class and style. At its center was the High Priestess of Argentine cuisine, Doña Petrona C. de Gandulfo (Pite 2013). Her cookbook and radio and television program contributed a great deal to the assimilation of Jewish women into the national culinary landscape as they sought to emulate the ideal woman. Against this background, and as part of an attempt to bring young people closer to Judaism through reference books, Erna Schlesinger published a Jewish cookbook that aimed to bring young women closer to the role intended for them: the preservation of kitchen Judaism. Her Especialidades de la Cocina Judía [Jewish Cuisine Specialties, 1955] was the first Jewish cookbook published in Argentina (Schlesinger 1955). Its introduction reads: “So that young Jewish housewives will finally discover the secrets of the traditional foods they loved as children in their father’s home, the old and traditional dishes prepared by their mothers” (Schlesinger 1955, 3). The book presents many variations of traditional Ashkenazi dishes collected by the author and three Sephardic ones. Schlesinger was the wife of the Chief Rabbi of the Libertad Synagogue in Buenos Aires. She taught classes on Jewish cuisine and established a tradition of gifting brides with the Jewish cookbook following the wedding ceremony. It is possible that as a JewishGerman immigrant she sought to revive a custom that existed among German Jews since the nineteenth century (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 2021). In the 1940s and 1950s, Schlesinger edited six textbooks and instruction manuals on Jewish 140 | L A Z N O W history and religion, including a book of Tchinot [supplications] for women in Spanish. Schlesinger’s publications stand out in a field that was dominated by men, but, while her history and religion books were by the twenty-first century found mainly in libraries, the cookbook may still be seen in Jewish homes. As a result of the high demand, a new edition was printed in 1989. In 1961, a second Jewish cookbook was published, La Cocina Judía Moderna de Acuerdo a las Normas Tradicionales [Modern Jewish Cuisine: According to the Principles of Tradition] (Bachmann, Besthof, and Wurzburger 1961). Unlike its predecessor, this book also includes typical Argentine recipes. The book addressed Argentine-born Jewish women who were looking for simple recipes as they began to juggle responsibilities of work and home. Following the transition from a difficult dictatorship to democracy, in 1984, a new cookbook: La Cocina Judía tradición y Variaciones [Jewish Cuisine: Tradition and Variations] by Patricia Finzi (1984) appeared. The book reflects the dynamics of change regarding home practice by including shortcuts for traditional dishes and bringing together the kitchen Judaism of all Jewish denominations. Years later Finzi dedicated an entire cookbook to Sephardi recipes: Sabores y misterios de la cocina sefaradí [Tastes and Mysteries of the Sephardic Cuisine] (Finzi and Gorbato 1993). This, as historian Adriana M. Brodsky has pointed out, ended a seemingly covert struggle manifested since the 1970s in an attempt to end the hegemony of Eastern European culinary tradition in Argentina, eventually giving Sephardi foodways a recognized place among Jewish-Argentine culinary traditions (Brodsky 2018). In the aftermath of the terror attack on the Asociación Mutual Israelita Argentina (AMIA) building that occurred in 1994, a call for recognition of the community’s history and contribution to society as an integral part of the Argentine nation arose. The woman’s role as keeper of tradition was attributed more intensely to the older generations. Rachel recalled: “My children, when they were younger, they would just come for the holy day and eat, but then they seemed to get closer to their roots. This generation was distant, and the AMIA attack brought them closer to the community and to tradition.” As a result, collections of bobes’ recipes were published. By 1997, Laura Schwartz’s published La Cocina Judía [Jewish Cuisine]—in which she presented the Argentine reader with Israeli G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 141 and Jewish recipes, naming them according to familiar Argentine concepts such as empanaditas [small filled pastry] or capeletis [filled pasta] and indicating their original name in parentheses—made traditional food accessible to all (Schwartz 1997). Additional examples are Yo Te Cuento . . . Algunas Recetas de mis Abuelas Esther y Eva [I’ll tell you . . . some recipes from my grandmothers Esther and Eva] (Senderey 2007) and Apuntes y Recetas de la Bobe [Notes and Recipes of the Bobe] (Jaratz-Seltzer 2011). In 1994, the Sephardi section of the women’s organization Na’amat published their own nostalgic cookbook devoted to grandmother’s legacy: Cocinando al Estilo Sefaradí: Berajá y Salú: Comidicas y Dulzurias al Estilo de Nuestras Madres y Abuelas [Cooking Sephardic style: Blessings and Health: Foods and Sweets in our Mother’s and Grandmother’s Style] (Brodsky 2018). The cookbook: La Cocina Judía y Todos sus Secretos [Jewish Cuisine and All Its Secrets], published in 1999, presents kosher Sephardic and Ashkenazi recipes, reflecting the community’s diversity and the importance of keeping kosher food for many (Alfie and Daisernia 1999). The cookbooks provide valuable information on foodways and homemaking practices of the immigrant generation and their descendants, as well as on the struggles of a minority group eager to join forces through home traditions and display them in an attempt to enter not only “our” homes but “theirs” as well. Gefilte Fish and an Argentine Legend In cookbooks as well as in personal stories, detailed reference is given to the gefiltefish (stuffed fish) dish, especially when addressing the high holidays. A mixture of ground fish, onions, eggs, salt, pepper, and for some also sugar, is made into dumplings and boiled in a broth with carrot slices and onion peels. It may also be baked as a loaf or cooked in a way that is considered authentic—fish skin stuffed with the fish mixture and boiled with the head and tail (Horowitz 2014). The dish retains its original name, although only the skinless versions are usually served nowadays. The original recipe might have been created with the intention to satisfy more diners despite meager means. In Jewish culture, the fish symbolizes luck, protection from the evil eye, and most of all fertility and abundance (Sabar 2010, 142 | L A Z N O W 146). In this respect, the gefilte-fish dish holds a feminine connotation and a special significance in the discourse attributed to it by Jewish Argentines. I found that in Argentina it is customary to mix three types of kosher fish to prepare gefilte-fish. For example, Sofia recreated the family recipe: “Our gefilte-fish is from Lithuania, salt and pepper—without any sugar. . . . We mix three different types of fish and grind them together. We add not only onions but also garlic, parsley, carrots . . . things that I imagine that originally in Eastern Europe they would not add. Then we make it either in the oven or boiled as dumplings.” Her story represents an effort to adapt the dish to Argentine cuisine using local ingredients— and yet adhere to the tradition of mixing three different types of fish. The interviewees often related a legend circulating among community members describing the origin of the custom of mixing three types of fish. The narrative seems to be unique to this community. Ida recalled an event where a participant referred to the story: There was an evening at the AMIA where they talked about food. . . . Someone spoke about the origin of gefilte-fish. Gefilte-fish came from . . . people think you must mix different types of fish, you know that don’t you?. . . In Argentina I would always hear: “You have to mix a piece of dorado [type of fish], a little bit of this and a little bit of that”. . . . The real reason for the tradition is that the women would go to the market late in the day and buy leftover fish. They would bring home pieces of different fish, chop them, and prepare gefilte-fish. It is still being done a bit in Argentina from what I hear from my daughter-in-law; they still take it into account. But the tradition is being lost because it became very expensive to buy fish, so it is made with the fish that people can afford, for the tradition. The legend is told with variations. Debora told me her version and admitted that she prepares the dish out of only one type of fish: “All my life, since I began to make it, I simply use merluza [a type of fish]. I read that mixing different types of fish really stems from the fact that the Jews in Europe would go to the beaches and G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 143 collect the fish left by the fishermen. That is how they had a little bit of this and a little bit of that.” Graciela told me the story she heard from her Polish grandmother: In Poland the Jews did not have much money; they did not have refrigerators back then either. They used to go to the fish store and buy what they could, with that they prepared gefilte-fish, thinking about this reminds us a little about, well . . . what they could not do and what we can do now. People ask what fish they need to prepare gefilte-fish, they [Jews in Poland] used leftovers, so you can do it with any fish too. The legend circulates in blogs and social media as well. To corroborate his story, a blogger even claims to have found the origin of the three types of fish custom in an old Yiddish book (Row 2008). Some Argentine Jews relate the story to poverty in Eastern Europe and others to poverty among the first Jewish immigrants to Argentina. In both cases, the claim that the fish dish, perceived as feminine, symbolizes poverty, wisdom, and deceit sheds light on today’s Jewish-Argentine woman’s role in shaping private and collective memory. Folk narratives that are believed to be passed down from generation to generation were found to express the aspirations and needs of the individual and the community today (Ben-Amos 1992; Kalmre 2013; PintelGinsberg 2021). Thus, the fish story, which was told with reservations, relates to the economic difficulties in Argentina today. Fish and seafood are not central to Argentine cuisine, except during the Quaresma, the Christian 40-day period when red meat is avoided. Passover usually corresponds with the Quaresma, raising the price of fish for everyone. This reality spawned a new covert discourse, encouraging homemakers to break the rules by utilizing only one type of economic fish while still serving the symbolic dish. In her cookbook Risas y Emociones de la Cocina Judía (Laughter and Excitement of Jewish Cuisine, 1993), Anna Maria Shua humorously recommends using one type of fish: “My recipe includes four times a pound of merluza! I have not heard yet of anyone that has complained 144 | L A Z N O W about the lack of another fish!” (Shua 1993, 23). From this perspective, the narrative emphasizes women’s responsibility for home economics then and now, without neglecting their role as traditional guardians of Jewish identity. Shua also addresses her readers’ Argentine identity and claims that the most popular dish that every Jewish mother in Argentina will happily prepare for her children every day is “a juicy steak, the kind that in the Shtetl they could only dream of ” (Shua 1993, 23). The analogy between the fish dish and the juicy steak demonstrates the existence of a synchronic axis marked by red meat consumption, associated with manhood and Argentinidad [Argentine Nationalism], coexisting with a diachronic axis symbolizing Jewishness, poverty, and women’s wisdom. From Gefilte-Fish to Argentina’s Red Meat In Eastern Europe, most Jews could not afford beef, poultry, and fish on a regular basis. Their daily food consisted of potatoes, rye bread and a few vegetables (Diner 2002). Immigration to Argentina offered the possibility to daily enjoy an affordable meat dish. Thus, Jewish immigrants tried hard to satisfy the demand for kosher meat. Restrictions on kosher slaughter and a ban on selling kosher meat took place from 1943 to 1945, when a military regime installed meat regulations as part of an unspoken aim to make Argentina an integral Catholic state (BenDror 2008; Bianchi 2012). This period lasted a relatively short time, but its social implications depicting Jews as a stigmatized other continued. In Western culture, red meat symbolizes abundance, power, masculinity, social status, and nationalism (Twigg 1983). The halakhic restrictions on meat created a stereotypical image of the Jew as feminine, and therefore not completely Argentine. Anthropologist Ariela Zycherman described the importance of red meat consumption in Argentina: “During my research I have repeatedly found that beef is a marker of national identity, and that its consumption is perceived as one of the main characteristics that distinguish between those who are Argentines and those who are not” (Zycherman 2008, 33). Consequently, an asado get-together in Argentina is not just a meat-grilling cookout meal but a traditional event commonly performed by men on weekends and holidays and enjoyed either by a group of men or by G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 145 entire families. Thus, Argentine asado events allow individuals and families to demonstrate their affiliation with the Argentine people. Today kosher meat may be easily bought, and anyone can enjoy a kosher asado if so chosen. While gefiltefish symbolizes a connection to a mythical Jewish past, the traditional asado gathering seeks to establish a contemporary collective identity—Jewish, manly, and Argentine. Tradition in Transition The dichotomy between the fish and meat traditions takes on a new meaning following immigration to Israel. Following the establishment of the state of Israel in 1948, Zionist ideology, sometimes enmeshed with personal and economic issues, encouraged many Jewish-Argentines to immigrate to Israel. The Zionist discourse was conveyed to the community in Jewish schools, youth movements, sport clubs, community events organized by Zionist associations, and the media. According to Zionist ideology the concept of Aliyah (Hebrew for elevation) conveys that Jews immigrating to Israel are in practice returning to their homeland. Sylvia, who immigrated to Israel in 1973, recalled: At the youth group we were taught that the main thing is to come, to immigrate to Israel. You can go to the kibbutz, you can go to the city, the main thing is that you come, and that’s what we wanted. We got married in ’73, and when I finished my studies, we came to Israel because we longed to come to Israel. We were Zionists, my parents were Zionists too. We grew up in a community that endlessly spoke about Israel. Although out of thousands of immigrants from Argentina living in Israel only a few immigrated as part of pioneering youth movements, up to the mid-1970s, this Aliyah was perceived as ideological and pioneering (Siebzehner 2016). Hundreds of young men and women, who participated in pioneering youth groups, volunteered to serve in the Israel Defense Forces, and established kibbutzim (Goldberg and Rozen 1988). Many arrived on their own, while others came in family groups. 146 | L A Z N O W The strong friendship that existed among members of youth movements encouraged couples to immigrate following marriage and obtain the blessing of their worried parents. Sometimes marriage ceremonies were hasty but always according to Jewish law (Chromoy 2006). Ida recalled her daughter’s immigration: “Even though we were, still are, and always will be Zionists, when my daughter told me she was ‘making Aliyah’ with her soon-to-be husband, I got sick with every possible disease. I cried so much as I watched the ship sailing away. You raise a child and then she goes away!” Publications, memoirs, and personal stories demonstrate that during the twentieth century, Jewish women in Argentina not only held the role of preserving community boundaries and had to deal with their children’s departure, but they also helped women and children in Israel through Zionist women’s organizations. For that purpose, they utilized their home practice skills such as sewing, baking, and organizing events (Laznow 2019). During the early years of the state of Israel, Argentine Jews arrived in Israel in relatively small numbers compared to other nationalities, but successive waves occurred in periods of political and economic distress (Klore 2016). Pushed by Zionist discourse and pulled by the difficulty of separating from family and friends, Rachel, who immigrated to Israel in 1980, remembered the words of her grandfather who left Argentina: “We received a Jewish and Zionist education. . . . Zionist in this sense . . . I remember that when I immigrated to Israel my grandfather told me: ‘It is good because here we are always sitting on our luggage, we never know when. . . .’ In ’73, Peron came to power. This was the first time my parents issued a passport for me, because they were afraid of what would happen.” Many times, parents convinced their daughters to immigrate to Israel. It was believed that Aliyah improved the daughter’s chances of finding a Jewish groom and/or a job in the profession that she studied and could not practice in Argentina due to an economic crisis. Ruth, who immigrated to Israel in 1963, recalled: “I came to my sister’s wedding and stayed here [in Israel]. I arrived in ’63 when I was 17. My parents asked me to attend the wedding by myself. I arrived on the Flaminia, the first Israeli ship to bring new Olim [those who made Aliyah] directly from South America to Israel. We were 800 immigrants.” Eventually, some parents followed their children’s immigration and united the family while improving their economic situation. G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 147 Following Aliyah, Zionist ideology often helped immigrants experience their new reality through the Ole prism and overcome most difficulties. Hannah made Aliyah in 1954, right after her marriage to a member of the Zionist youth group she attended: I came here to a very different reality, to the kibbutz. In the years I arrived there was really nothing to eat, it was a time of austerity. . . . It was a time of idealism. It was a very, very, special time. . . . You know, when you are idealistic, everything is good for you . . . and nothing is difficult. . . . We wanted to be pioneers and we trained and prepared as if to be part of the “defense” with the conditions that prevailed in the country at that time. Immigration, even if based on ideology, presents new immigrants with daily challenges. These challenges concern certain aspects of the personal and collective identity, among them mastering a new language and adapting to different foodways and customs. Interviewees spoke about language difficulties in Israel and compared them to the communication problems their parents or grandparents experienced in Argentina. The Yiddish accents of Eastern European immigrants trying to speak Spanish in Argentina often drew ridicule. As they spoke, the interviewees examined their own experience regarding their use of Hebrew. This awareness enabled them to overcome their language difficulties with self-compassion while reshaping their new identity. Beatriz humorously described the way her grandmother who immigrated from Poland to Argentina spoke and compared it to her own situation: Look, it is funny what I’m going to say . . . but everyone spoke with an accent. An accent that identifies you as a Jew. I remember Grandma who could not say huevos [eggs in Spanish] but said boybos . . . she would say que foy foy. It’s not like that, it’s lo que fue fue [what was was], all sorts of things like that . . . I was a little embarrassed when my grandmother spoke Spanish, so I spoke in Yiddish with her on the street. Today I can understand how she felt. 148 | L A Z N O W Despite their level of assimilation into Israeli culture, the Spanish language the women acquired as children remains an intimate part of their identity. In Israel, Spanish constitutes a mirror image of the preservation of the Yiddish language among their elders in Argentina. Ruth explained: “We have integrated and that’s it. Although I read books in Hebrew with no problem, still, Spanish is my culture, I was born with it, and grew up with it.” Preservation of verbal expressions allow for the preservation of cultural codes alongside traditional foodways that carry a matching cultural meaning. As semiotician Roland Barthes stated, food summarizes and transmits a message related to a personal or collective situation, thus signifying, just as the spoken language, a system of communication (Barthes 1997 [1961], 21–22). The combination of expressive culture and symbolic food may be examined as cultural text that facilitates the transmission of information through the different senses. Foodways in Transition The adoption of novel foodways in a new country is done gradually, parallel to the acquisition of the local language and the adaptation to new cultural values. Alicia describes her first years in Israel, and her attempts to continue offering her family their favorite Argentine foods: In the early years I would prepare more Argentine food, because of nostalgia. . . . good asado, empanadas, things like that. Not so many knishes or gefiltefish. Today when my mom makes knishes, I am very happy, but I will not make knishes, that’s for sure. When I came here, about 40 years ago, I would make dulce de leche [milk jam]; I would make all the things that we could not buy here. In her description, Alicia downplayed the importance of Eastern European Jewish food as she placed it in the “food from the Old World, which she would not prepare” category. In general, secular Jewish-Argentines living in Israel tend to prepare traditional Jewish dishes, that they learned from their mothers or grand- G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 149 mothers, only for the high holidays, just as it is done in most Israeli households where East European food such as gefilte-fish symbolize exile (Zaban 2016). Notably, some interviewees reported that they still adhere to the tradition of mixing three types of fish when preparing gefilte-fish, as they follow a family recipe or cookbook, but only referring to the legend when addressing the way the dish is prepared in Argentina. In Israel, the Jewish-Argentine feminine role of preserving Jewish community boundaries through foodways and Yiddish oral expressions loosens up. The fact that their offspring live in a Jewish state and are familiar with Jewish traditions allows mothers and grandmothers to let go of the urge to transmit Jewish cultural codes. Leah explained: “In Argentina, if you want to convey to your children that they are Jews, you must do something to make them feel their uniqueness and keep them away from assimilation. On the other hand, when we live in Israel, we don’t really have to try hard to preserve their Jewish identity.” For her, as for most of the Israeli-Argentine interviewees, Israel arouses a national sentiment rather than a religious one, reducing the need to emphasize Jewish customs and traditions. Following Aliyah, transformation takes place in relation to the bobe as a key symbol. Regardless, the family’s private bobe continues to be the source through which their descendants get their inspiration for nostalgic and comforting foods. The bobe’s legacy serves as a prism for a deeper understanding of the women’s personal world. Rachel, who lives in Jerusalem, recalled: “For the holidays, first of all gefilte-fish and kneidelach. At first it was passed on to my grandmothers and then it was passed on to my mother, now I make it. It is delicious; it is easy to make. I always say: ‘That’s how my mother and grandmother would make them.’” While traditional Jewish dishes are still prepared for the high holidays, in Israel, Argentine food is considered symbolic, replacing the status of Jewish food as a distinctive group tradition. Edith stated: “We bring Argentina here, we eat alfajores [Argentinean cookies] and we enjoy asado—an Argentine home.” In everyday life most interviewees enjoyed preparing or purchasing typical Argentine foods for themselves, their children, or grandchildren. Mary recounted: “I have a daughter for whom on every birthday, and she is already 18 years old, there must be dulce de leche and pizza. It is a matter of habit. When she was little, there 150 | L A Z N O W was no dulce de leche here, and I made her dulce de leche at home. It is delicious; today I no longer do it because I can buy it.” Transformation of what is perceived as folk culture is especially noticeable in the Israeli-Argentine women’s attitude towards the preparation and consumption of red meat. The habit of preparing a meat dish every day continued for most interviewees while their children were home. For most, a steak is still like a vitamin source, designed to strengthen and maintain their children’s health. Rachel stated: “I make steaks for my sons—when they were in the army they would come home and eat steaks. I have two sons, so of course, two steaks on Saturday.” Many Israeli-Argentines hold asado gatherings on weekends and holidays, continuing a tradition that includes a full day of food and fun in the backyard or balcony. Personal stories describe in detail family and friends’ asado gatherings on Israel’s Independence Day. This is a special day of the year when the Israeli ‘al ha esh’ [on the fire] gathering is similar to the habitual Argentine Sunday asado. During the rest of the year, asado is perceived as part of the family’s traditional foodways. In explaining the practice of meat grilling at her son’s home in a kibbutz, Teresa links the concern with meat grilling to the concept of tradition: “My son does not move into a new home if there is no open yard for the asado equipment. We have a tradition of eating asado.” Pointing to a special device for meat grilling brought to Israel from Argentina, that is, the parrilla, Alicia affirmed the perception of asado events as a family sacred tradition: “Obviously we eat asado. I always say: in the balcony we keep the ‘altar,’ because sometimes . . . not that we make a whole cow but . . . almost . . . yes.” Most Jewish-Argentine women living in Israel enjoy asado as a festive event that symbolically positions men in charge of transmitting tradition. The asado brings women closer to the men in the family, as they feel more involved in the preparations and the actual grilling of the meat. Women, just as with men, cease to be perceived as a Jewish “other,” but they do not break free from their female “otherness.” As a result, Israeli-Argentine women choose to preserve traits of their Argentine identity that set them in a more masculine role and apart from other Israeli women. Old eating habits are fused into a new framework uniting different traditions while highlighting the appropriate symbol at each distinctive traditional G E N D E R E D F O O D S A N D T R A D I T I O N S | 151 meal. While only a few Israeli cookbooks include Argentine recipes such as alfajores or empanadas, the one cookbook in Hebrew focusing on Argentine foodways is dedicated to Argentinean meat grilling. The Argentine Guide to the Israeli Mangalist [Hebrew word for that who grills the meat] guides those among the general public who are interested in making their meat grilling experience an Argentine one (Gorali 2007). Inherited Identity The multicultural discourse in Israel today, in contrast to the melting pot ideology that has been around until the 1970s, is evident in Liliana’s words: “I understand that this is a process that my grandparents went through and that we go through as well. You want to quickly belong to the place, so at some point you put the things you brought aside, until you open your eyes, and then you say: ‘No, you don’t throw away; you combine.’” Many Israeli-Argentine women see themselves as a bridge to Argentine language and culture that is valued in Israel today. Esther recalled: “I taught Spanish to young people in the library where I worked. They would say to me: ‘Can you speak to me in Spanish?’ I would ask them if they were Israelis and if their parents were Latin American, and it always turned out that they had learned Spanish from Argentine telenovelas [soap operas]. It happened every day. One day we were at the mall and of course spoke Spanish. A girl said to me: ‘Madam, can I speak to you in Spanish? Because I love Argentine telenovelas.’ It was so beautiful.” Moreover, aspects of Argentine identity are not just conveyed to interested Israeli youth, but they are also transmitted to their own children and grandchildren through the senses. Although most women did not intend to transfer their Argentine identity to their children, they were often amazed by the fact that some of their children, if not all of them, are the ones who want to adopt this identity by listening to Argentine music, eating traditional foods, learning Spanish, and referring to themselves as Argentines. Alicia stated: “My daughter, born in Israel, says she is of Argentine descent. She understands everything. It seems to be a very strong component of her identity.” The women’s own attitudes towards Argentine foodways and the Spanish language seem to convey to their children 152 | L A Z N O W and grandchildren the feeling that they too are part of this culture, the same way immigrant women in Argentina and their offspring transmitted Eastern European Jewish traditions. Immigrants creatively draw upon cultural traditions as resources in their daily struggle to adapt to a new country, while their descendants draw upon them for self-expression and determination. The interpretation of the cultural text that emerges around foodways and language, in Argentina and Israel, brings to the forefront the transformation and ecotypification of home practices due to immigration and points to a reality in which tradition adapts itself to the cultural and economic situation of the individual and the country in which he or she lives. The cultural transformation shown in this study asserts the definition of tradition as an emerging cultural practice that adapts to new realities (Ben-Amos 1984; Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1995; Schrire 2006; Noyes 2009; Bronner 2011). Repetition of what is considered traditional praxis creates points of contact between the parts of one’s identity separated by a hyphen, and these create a hybrid culture. Folklorist Hagar Salamon states: “Folklore is an arena in which binaries such as tradition and innovation, similarity and difference, inclusion and exclusion are constantly expressed and reworked, while producing contact zones between them. The sharpness of these contrasts makes them potentially explosive, while their reworking into folk cultural aesthetics enables them to enter daily life in a manner both unobtrusive yet highly revealing” (Salamon 2017, 9). Thus, symbols conceptualized as traditional by the individual and the group link private to collective memory, transforming and adapting their meaning to times and spaces. Acknowledgments This essay is based on my Ph.D. dissertation: “Folklore, Tradition, and Memory among Women from the Jewish Community in Argentina.” I thank Professor Hagar Salamon of the Folklore and Folk Culture Studies Program at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem for her guidance. I am grateful for the interviewees and the anonymous reviewers. 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